Lost in Translation
by UndisclosedUprising
Summary: A simple visit with Russia turns into something much more as the talk turns to the recent pact with Germany./No pairings, RATED M FOR BLOOD AND GORE
1. Chapter 1

Russia smiled gently as he stepped out of the government building, and resisted the urge to spread his arms and stretch. If Germany was tense in casual conversation, he was rigid during discussions. The talk, as usual, had been of the recent pact, and the meeting had been brief. It was the end of winter, but the sun had a soft glow to it, drifting behind clouds occasionally and sending the cobblestone streets into sporadic fits of shadow.

He could feel the chill of the vodka bottle pressed to his skin, hidden beneath the thick fabric of his trench coat, and he withdrew it, eager to refresh himself after the tense negotiations.

Russia continued walking down the steps of the building, but paused when he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye.

"Germany, Germany, look at all the people!"

"There are no more people here than usual, Italy..."

The brown hair and dazed aloof gait were unmissable, especially next to the stern, broad-shouldered German officer accompanying him. Russia walked over to his allies, steel-toed boots silent as he approached.

"...I have to meet with my boss now." Germany turned to the man beside him. "You know the way back to the hotel room. Here is the key, and don't lose it."

Italy took the small metal key from Germany with a frown. "But why can't I go with you?"

Germany sighed. "Because I am meeting with my boss. He is _my_ boss, Italy, not _our_ boss. _Lebewohl_."

Italy stared at Germany's retreating figure walking down a side street. He would explore a bit before going back to the hotel room. After all, he had never been in Russia before. Maybe he would even find some of the other nations and talk with them. Italy stared up at the buildings as he walked, not paying any attention to the many people walking around him, including the tall blond making his way toward him.

Russia broke the bottle's seal as he approached. His eyes moved to Germany briefly then fell back on Italy. He stopped a few steps away from his guest and sipped his drink. It had been some time since he had spoken to either Italy, and his first conversation with them had been far too brief. He put his hand on the man's shoulder, earning him a glance and a shriek. He smiled in response. "Italy!" Russia exclaimed. "I am glad to see you again. Have you been enjoying yourself?"

Italy mentally cursed himself. He _knew_ he should have gone back to the hotel and made himself some pasta, but it was far too late for that. Russia's hand on his shoulder had turned into a firm, almost painful grip, most likely to stop him from running away.

Russia waited a moment for Italy to respond before shaking his head and dismissing the question. "Let us walk. The meeting is over now. Your hotel is this way, da?" Gently, he pushed Italy forward, leading him out of the complex. Italy took a few steps and stumbled, but managed to keep himself upright. Russia was, in fact, pushing him in the _opposite_ direction of his hotel, but when he tried tobring this to the Russian's attention, his complaints were brushed aside.

"It has been a nice day, Italy." Russia mused aloud, looking up at the sky. "Negotiations are going well." His eyes crinkled in mirth as he looked down at the younger man. "For a while, I thought that Comrade Germany and his boss were acting strange...but this meeting has put my fears aside." He paused in mid-step, the smile dead on his face. "Mostly." He added softly. His fingers dug into Italy's shoulder momentarily when he began to walk. "Do you know when Germany will be returning?"

To fill the long walk, Italy thought about all of the pretty girls and buildings he had seen earlier that day. He barely noticed as they left the city and began passing small houses scattered here and there on the outskirts of Moscow. Italy stared. How had they gotten there so fast? "Um, R-Russia? Where are we going? My hotel was back there...I was going to make pasta..." stammered Italy.

Russia slowed his pace slightly as they approached city's border. "I wanted to show you my house." He explained lightly. "You have not been there before, da?" His eyes lit up. "Which means you have also not met the Baltics yet!"

He came to a stop and turned to Italy. "You really should meet them. They are a lot of fun." He grinned. "We should play a game as well, to celebrate! I am not so good at soccer though...I know that is one of your favorites. We can just play something from the Home Country!"

Italy stared at the edges of the city of Moscow. In the distance he could see apartments where lights were blazing in a few of the windows, making a stark contrast to the buildings' dull exterior. A bit farther than the various apartments and small houses, Italy could see a dark spot against the other twinkling lights. "Which one is your house, Russia?" He pointed to the shaded area. "Is it that one? And what game are we going to play? I really like playing cards!"

"Da, that one is mine." He cocked his head. "I am not too sure I want to play a card game though..."

The streets were mostly silent as they approached; night fell quickly in the late winter months. Cars were few and far between, and the streetlamps here had dimmed considerably due to lack of proper maintenance. Now, with the sun dropping steadily, there was a certain biting crispness to the air, and heavy clouds were rolling in over the sky. Russia took a long swig of vodka. A snowstorm was approaching, and quickly at that. "We should hurry," He gestured to the sky, to the black expanse speckled with stars and the moon half-smothered by clouds. "There is a storm coming. I would not want my guest to be stuck outside."

Italy ignored the small shiver that ran down his spine as he stared at Russia's dark house. He distantly heard Russia's voice through his thoughts, and that snapped him back to the present. Italy glanced upwards and saw that while he had been thinking, much time had passed and thick clouds threatening rain were slowly gathering overhead. Another small shiver coursed down his back as the nearest streetlight flickered, glowed brightly, then blew out, plunging the pair into sudden darkness.

Russia glanced up. A frown tugged at the corner of his mouth and he shook his head in disappointment. Somehow, the darkness made the cold all the more apparent, and he could feel the emptiness of the bottle.

He paced up his front walk, gently pushing Italy along as his pace faltered. The front door was unlocked. "The Baltics are here..." Russia murmured, pushing the door open. Italy stumbled forward over the threshold as he was nudged along.

Russia adjusted his scarf as he walked into his house and looked around. A few lights were on, but the house was silent, save for the faint creeks and moans of the settling wood. Russia took a few steps towards the hallway leading from the doorway. "Would you like something to drink...? I have no wine, but I have vodka." He paused and turned back to Italy. "Or I can make tea. You are my guest, da? Whatever you would like."

As Italy entered the huge space of the landing, he was amazed by the size of Russia's house. A small thought made itself known in the back of Italy's mind: hadn't Russia said the Baltic nations – whoever they were – were here? He couldn't hear a sound. Italy turned his attention back to Russia. "Ve, I would like some pasta! Oh, you meant to drink? Ve...Do you have any tea? Tea is good." Italy turned around in slow circles, observing the house for a second time as if to memorize it.

Russia nodded. "Very well...Ah! I almost forgot!" He took a step towards Italy and held out a hand. "Do you want me to take your coat? You are lucky you visited so late in the year. In winter it would far colder."

Italy shrugged and made an ambiguous noise, and Russia left for his kitchen. In fact, Italy was quite glad to have his coat, as Russia's house was only a few degrees warmer than it had been outside. He wandered towards where Russia had previously been and saw the telephone on the wall. "Ve, Russia, can I use your phone? I should tell Germany and Japan where I am. They will be worried. After Germany gets finished with his special meeting, I mean."

Russia filled the kettle and set it on his stove, setting his vodka down on the table as he passed it. The burner was still slightly warm...so the Baltics really were home. He turned at Italy's request and raised his eyebrows. "You are thinking of leaving already?" He asked, a whine edging his voice. "But you have just arrived." He motioned to the table. "You will sit, da? It was a long walk from Moscow." He gave Italy his closest approximation of a warm smile. "You must be tired."

"Ve, I just don't want them to worry." He walked over to the table and tugged out a chair, wincing at the squeak it made while rubbing against the faded wood of the floor. "Especially Germany. He gets mad if I'm late." He sat down but kept his attention focused on the stove, Russia, and the steadily darkening window behind the smudged glass. Italy fidgeted during the entire conversation; he seemed to have unending energy.

The soft rumble of boiling water purred as Russia spoke and translucent haze of steam rose from the kettle's spout. "You are late very often?"

Italy shifted around in his chair, the wood creaking in protest. "Sometimes. It's mostly because I follow a pretty girl home. Then I make her pasta." He sat up straighter at the mention of his favorite food. "Ve, do you have any pasta? I could make some," the small Italian offered eagerly.

Russia shook his head slowly. "No, I don't. My apologies." He walked forward and placed his hands on the edge of the table. With an amicable smile, he leaned towards Italy and shrugged his shoulders. "How have things been going with Comrade Germany? Our talks are mostly business, but I would like to know if everything is alright with him."

Italy unconsciously edged away from Russia, leaning back as the tall man leaned forward. "Ve, Germany is as strict as ever! We do lots of training every day, even here in Russia! Mostly he watches me run laps, but he lifts weights sometimes. And...we did weapons training the other day, but it didn't end so well..." Italy seemed reluctant to continue, ending his chatter abruptly.

Russia raised his eyebrows in pleased surprise. "It must be nice to have someone who cares so greatly about you. Germany certainly pays a lot of attention to your well-being." He sighed. "I heard that his attack on England did not go so well...That is unfortunate."

Italy gave a noncommittal nod and glanced around. "Ve, Russia, this was kind of you and all, but I really have to get back to Germany. He said we have some extra hard training in the morning, and I want to get back and eat some pasta," said Italy.

"But you do that everyday, and it seems as though we never get a chance to talk." Russia protested gently. He reached a hand out towards Italy to pat his shoulder. "You will stay a little longer, da? I'm sure Germany will understand. It is merely a conversation between comrades?"

"Ve, but pasta is delicious. And there are so many different kinds! There's spaghetti and penne and rotini and lasagna and..." Italy's voice faded as he saw Russia's frozen expression. He shrugged and agreed, seeing no harm in staying a while longer. He peered out the window at the heavy white flakes falling slowly from the dark sky.

Russia followed Italy's gaze out the window. "And it is snowing now. You would be a fool to walk back to Moscow in this weather. You will at least stay until the storm passes, da?"

Italy hesitated a moment before bobbing his head happily. "Ve, this is so nice of you, Russia! I don't think Germany would mind if I stayed until the snow stopped. But, he _did _say not to go with you –" Italy stopped suddenly and pressed his hand over his mouth.

"Eh?" Russia tipped his head to the side. His hands tensed and braced against the table slightly. "What was that Italy?" His lips twitched, hinting at a smile. "Please, continue. I wish to know what you have to say."

Italy took his hand away from his mouth, but his eyes remained wide and full of fear. He stuttered and stammered when he next spoke. "U-um, n-nothing, Russia...nothing..."

Russia shook his head. "Go on. I am curious, comrade."

Italy opened his mouth as if to say something, but he suddenly stood up, knocking his chair over. He made for the door, stumbling in his haste, and glanced back.

Russia was gone.

Panting, Italy snuck toward the entrance to the kitchen and peered around the corner. Still no Russia. Taking a chance, Italy sprinted to the hallway, the thick door within sight.

"Comrade!" Russia called after him. "Why are you so quick to leave?" Italy let out a small shriek as Russia's glove briefly touched his neck, spurred to run even faster towards the door, which he ran into with a thump. The small man shook his head quickly to stop the slight dizziness and yanked on the door handle.

Nothing happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Russia's hand slammed into the wood next to Italy's with a gunshot crack. "Please, don't be difficult." His lower lip stuck out slightly, trembling in a childish pout. "You are my ally Italy. But the fact that you ran makes me uneasy. All I want to know is what Germany told you."

Italy jumped and turned his head to find the Russian's just inches from his own. Swallowing hard, the Italian looked down. "G-Germany told me I sh-should..._stayawayfromyou_." He finished in a rush, not daring to glance up at Russia.

Russia's expression brightened. "What?" He asked with a gentle laugh. "Why would Germany say that?"

Taking a chance, Italy looked up at the grinning man. "I r-really don't know. He...he j-just...did," he finished lamely.

Russia grabbed Italy by the throat and threw him to the ground. He paused for a second to watch the man skid across the floorboards before pacing towards him, grinning. "I already have enough worries, Italy. I don't want to think that one of my new friends doesn't trust me. Why don't you simply put my mind at ease?"

Italy gulped and tried to sit up. He put a hand to his throat and rubbed it, waiting a minute before he could speak. "...Germany said that in the morning, h-his boss was p-planning an invasion...of...you."

Russia's grin faded for a moment, barely noticeable, but it was soon replaced a larger, strained smile. "That is impossible. We signed a pact only two years ago." He tilted his head and a shadow fell across his face. "But I suppose you do not have a reason to lie..." He placed his foot on Italy's chest, and felt his boot rise slightly as the Italian attempted to take one last panicked breath. "Thank you, comrade...That was not so hard, da?"

Italy gripped the large boot on top of his chest, trying not to let any of his precious air out. He struggled, but Russia's boot only pressed harder. "...Why..." Italy managed to croak out.

He eased up on Italy's chest and leaned down slightly. "Da?" Russia cocked his head.

Italy coughed. "...Why... why are you doing this?" Italy's small frame spasmed as a coughing fit overtook him. "It's not me...it's Germany. I didn't..." He coughed again. "..didn't even know until yesterday..."

Russia lifted his foot from the Italian's sternum and knelt over him. "Because, _comrade_, I know Germany cares about you." He slipped his hand under Italy's chin and titled the man's head upwards. "I don't want to have to deal with his pathetic attempts at invading me. Perhaps, if I send the right message, he will leave me alone. And I plan to use you."

Italy trembled and pulled out of the Russian's fingers. "I won't help you, Germany will come for me, I know he will." The smaller man tried to sit up again, but winced and lay back down on the floor, which seemed to soothe the pain from his chest.

Russia placed his hand on the floor next to Italy's head and smiled. "I'm not _asking_ for your help. I will show Germany his plans are a mistake. And I will write the message in your _krov_." He smiled and leaned in towards Italy. "You have been learning Russian, da? Did Germany teach you that word?"

Italy stiffened. "N-no, I don't think Germany ever told me that one." The smaller country winced as pain shot through his chest again. Even that short sentence had left him moaning in pain inwardly. But he wouldn't give Russia the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

"It means blood." Russia explained cheerfully. "I plan to spread yours everywhere – all across my walls, and Germany's if it comes to that."

Italy's thoughts flew to Germany and Japan, who would probably be searching the surrounding area for him. They might even be going door-to-door, thinking he had simply followed a pretty girl home.

Russia pushed off the ground gently and rose to his feet. "Stand up, comrade."

Italy swallowed hard and struggled to his feet. He wobbled, pinwheeling his arms madly, and promptly fell back onto the ground. Italy hurriedly stood up again, not wanting to give Russia another reason to hurt him. "Why are you doing this?" the auburn-haired nation asked again, his voice trembling slightly.

Russia smiled and cocked his head. "You really are slow, da? I already told you." He calmly stepped towards Italy and shoved him against the wall. "If I play a game or two with you, maybe..." His smile faded for a moment before returning, twisted and strained. "...maybe Germany won't be so eager to play a game with me. Maybe he will just _leave me alone._" There was a cold edge to his words. His grip tightened on Italy. "Do you understand now, comrade?"

Italy swallowed hard. _I can't get him angry – he'll just beat me up sooner_..._The best thing to do is to agree with him_. "I guess so," Italy replied. "Germany sometimes has to repeat things a lot before I understand them." Immediately after saying that, Italy inwardly groaned. Why had he mentioned Germany?

Russia's expression darkened considerably, but before his smile had the chance to fade again, he reached down and grabbed Italy's hand. He turned and dragged the man back to the kitchen. Italy tried frantically to grasp at walls and doorways along the way, but Russia's grip on his hand was too strong. He could almost feel the bones in his fingers cracking. Italy continued to struggle and yell in hopes that Russia had lied, and the Baltics were still around the house somewhere. But all he got back in response were echoes.

Russia grasped the neck of the vodka bottle with his free hand and swallowed most of it in one gulp. He let out a contented sigh, but cut it off abruptly as his eyes fell upon the shuddering figure in the corner of the kitchen. "Latvia!" He exclaimed, twisting Italy's wrist in the hopes to quiet him. With a final whimper, Italy fell silent. "What are you doing here?" Latvia blurted out something about getting some tea. Russia nodded with mock understanding as Latvia mumbled excuses and apologies for a few moments before interrupting him.

Unfortunately, the small Baltic seemed too terrified of the massive Russian, and seemed not to notice Italy as he stammered. Italy waved his other arm frantically and whispered, "Ve, Latvia! Please help! I have to get back to Germany right now!" Latvia spared him only a passing glance, and Italy's heart sank. Why wouldn't Latvia help him?

"As long as you are here, why don't you join us?" Russia offered, ignoring Italy's outburst.

"N-n-no." Latvia mumbled, backing out of the kitchen. His eyes flicked to Italy, wide with fear and sympathy. "I-I should be g-going."

"Latvia! What are you doing? Don't you know Russia –" Lithuania froze as he saw Russia standing across from Latvia. Trembling slightly, he gave Russia a weak, apologetic smile and guided his younger housemate from the room. Russia turned back to Italy after taking another drink.

"Latvia and Liet." He explained with a flickering grin. "I'm glad you got to meet them." He sighed. "But I'm sorry they didn't want to play."

Italy looked up at Russia with wide eyes. He took in the taller nation's childish smile, the violet eyes that betrayed no emotion. Italy wondered how it was possible that the smile that lit up Russia's face did nothing to change his cold purple eyes. Italy shivered visibly. "D-do you play games with them a lot...?"

"Da." Russia set down the now all but empty vodka bottle on the table and reached into the folds of his coat. "We have lots of fun at my house."

Italy noticed that while Russia was looking for his pipe, he had unconsciously let go of Italy's wrist, and backed up until his palms were flat against the cold wall behind him.

Russia's eyebrows jumped in pleased surprise as his fingers found what they were looking for. He withdrew the object slowly – a metal rod, splattered with rust and a myriad of brownish patches, dented and scratched and topped with a faucet. "And now, Comrade Italy," he pointed the pipe at the nation, "it is your turn."

Italy let out a short yelp. He swallowed hard and raised his head to look Russia in the eyes. A cold feeling swept through Italy's body as he recognized glee in the taller man's purple eyes.

"Don't be so worried." Russia smiled. "We're just going to play a game, da?" He moved the pipe away from Italy's chin briefly, only to swing it upwards, crushing the metal against the man's jaw. Italy let out a wordless cry as the cold metal made contact. He heard Russia talking, but was too busy trying to soothe the immediate pain pulsing from the left side of his face. He put a tentative hand up to his cheek, then looked at his fingers. They came away wet with blood. Italy gave a small whimper.

Russia's eyes flickered from the pipe to Italy's face as crimson blossomed from a small gash on his cheek. He dragged a finger through the blood as it ran down the length of the pipe. "See, comrade?" He said softly. "It is ony a game."

"Germany will help me," he said bravely. Italy couldn't look the Russian in the face. He was afraid of what he would see there. The smaller nation suddenly noticed he was on the floor once again, having slid down the wall after Russia had hit him with his pipe. Italy placed a hand on the wall for support and stood up, albeit shakily. "Germany will come."

"_Nyet._" Russia dug his steel-toed boot into Italy's abdomen causing the breath to rush from him. "That's the whole point of this game, comrade. I don't want Germany to come. I want to keep him _away_." He swung the pipe into Italy's temple. This blow was gentler than the first, and drew no blood, but a bruise crept across the right side of Italy's face, and the man shook as he received it. "Even if Germany did come to visit, do you really think I would let him see you?" Russia laughed. "I will keep you here until the game is over, until I am sure Germany will never think about coming to my house."

"G-Germany will find m-me," Italy managed to choke out. He coughed. "I'll scream for him and he'll hear me and come to get me. He will." But he didn't even know if that was true anymore.

Russia swung the pipe diagonally across Italy's face. "Da, da. Scream all you like, comrade. No one will hear, but I will enjoy it." He grabbed Italy by the collar and dragged him to feet. Once the man was steady, he grabbed his neck and threw him at the table, causing him slide haphazardly across its surface before falling back to the floor. Russia looked over and let out a relieved sigh. "Horosho." He murmured, grabbing the vodka bottle. "I was worried you'd knock it over."

Italy spat out a broken tooth. He forced himself not to react. He lay where he had landed after skidding across the table. He tried not to move so much. It was possible that Russia would think him unconscious and leave him alone...Italy laughed bitterly in his mind. There was no chance of getting out of here. Russia would continue his little 'game' until Italy couldn't move. Or worse. And nobody would help him. The Baltics were abused by Russia on a daily basis; no doubt they were glad that Russia had brought home a new person to receive the bruises and cuts from his 'games'. Italy simply lay there. Suddenly a thought struck him. If Germany and Japan didn't see him home...they would go looking! They would ask everyone! Italy felt a small bit of relief at this, but knew not to get his hopes up. After all, Russia was less than fifteen feet away. And getting closer, he suddenly realized.

Russia's eyes brightened as an idea came to him. He brought the bottom of the bottle down on the edge of the table and grinned at the cacophony of sound that erupted. Italy twitch at the sound. A few pieces of glass bounced off the cold cement floor and nicked Italy's arms and legs. Gingerly, he reached down a picked up one of the larger shards and approached Italy. His grin broadened as he noted that Italy hadn't moved. "You are cooperating now?" Russia crouched over him. "Horosho...I almost thought you weren't going to enjoy this."

He refused to move even as he saw the Russian's tall shadow slide across his prone form. Peeking from between closed eyelids, he saw the glint that only light off the edge of glass could give. He shuddered inwardly. Italy would not give the crazed Russian the satisfaction of making him scream. He would not.

Russia gripped Italy's chin and twisted his head side to side, examining his face. "Eh..." He frowned. "I didn't think it would be that hard to decide." He rested the edge of the shard on Italy's right cheek. "This side," he mused aloud, "or...this?" He turned Italy head to the side again, exposing the left of his face. Russia shrugged aloofly and pressed the glass shard into the skin. Italy writhed. "I guess it won't matter in the end, da?"

The small feeling of hope he had had before was shattered. Germany wouldn't even know where to look. Japan would try to use his reason, but even if they came right up to Russia's door, and he was screaming as loud as he could, they wouldn't hear him. Russia would probably make sure of that. Italy twitched as the glass cut deeper and deeper into his face. He could taste blood in his mouth and wondered if he would ever recover from this. But he would not scream.

Russia dragged the shard down Italy's cheek, neck and torso, splitting open the man's shirt as his hand swept along the soft skin. He traced his eyes along the steadily lengthening wound as he lengthened slit; the corners of his mouth jerked upwards as blood pooled on the Italian's chest, soaking his uniform. The glass shard was not only painful, it was also slightly wet from the remainder of the vodka. The alcohol burned his throat, chest and cheek as Russia dragged the sharp edge along the Italian's pain-wracked body. Italy saw and felt the blood begin to puddle on his chest and drip onto the cold cement floor, and began to hope for unconsciousness. If this was only the beginning of Russia's 'game'...Italy moaned inwardly. He didn't know how much more he could handle without making a sound.

Russia set down the glass shard gently and ran his finger down the cut roughly, rubbing off the newly formed scabs on the upper half of the laceration. Italy closed his eyes with relief when he felt the glass removed from his flesh. The relief was short-lived however. He felt the iciness of Russia's finger slicing open the cut again as he wiped away the blood, and flinched as the tender skin parted under his touch. Russia gave Italy a leering smile. "Well, comrade? Do you still think Germany will come?"

Italy spat some of the blood from his mouth and coughed, "Germany will come. I know it."

"Your determination is amusing. I can see why Germany has taken a liking to you." Russia ruffled Italy's hair for a moment, but turned the kindly gesture into a firm grip, and he dragged Italy across the floor and down the hallway leading away from the kitchen. He paced down the corridor until he came to a small, inconspicuous looking door. "I always have more fun here." Russia grinned. He raised Italy to his face. "And I hope you will too."

He wrenched the door open revealing a narrow set of wooden steps. Russia swept his arm forward and dropped Italy down them before following him down the steps after a pause.

Italy stifled multiple moans and groans as he fell down the dark stairs. One particularly odd-shaped stair caught his forehead on the way down, opening yet another gash in his already battered body. The brunette landed in a heap at the base of the stairs. He lay there for a moment, waiting for the spots to stop flashing in his vision.

**A/N: Forgot to do this last time. *facepalm* This fic is a role-play story by myself and my good friend Arugala. She's Russia and I'm Italy. **

**This note is for both the first chapter and the second. This is where the rating begins to make sense. It only gets worse from here…. As of right now, we have the entire story written out, but we need to split it into chapters that make sense. You should expect some cliffhangers; we're evil that way. We do not own Hetalia (unfortunately). Please read and review! It means a lot to us! Also, we will be alternating replying to reviews. I took the first one, from Limonthy. Thanks again!**


	3. Chapter 3

Suddenly, he remembered where he was and quickly scrambled to his feet. The small man rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to get his limited vision to focus. He couldn't see anything; the room seemed to stretch on forever. He shivered, noticing how cold it was down there.

Russia, on the other hand, was familiar with the dimensions of the room, and he stepped down the dark stairwell with a casual, nonchalant gait, tapping his pipe against his palm as he went. Italy was easy to locate even in the darkness; Russia could picture his bedraggled frame in the black.

Italy saw the glint of the pipe a split second before it hit him full in the face. Russia lashed out with the length of steel, swinging for what he assumed would be Italy's neck and awaited the sound of the impact with twisted glee.

The small man (for once thankful for his short stature) quickly dodged sideways, but not quickly enough; the edge of the pipe clipped his head with enough force to slam him against the wall. Italy slid down the wall and sank to the floor, afterimages flashing in his eyes. He curled up in pain, shuddering. The second pipe blow had caught him in the left eye. He was now unable to see anything out of it. _Please not blind_, Italy thought helplessly. _My God, my God, not blind, please!_

Russia followed the sound of the impact and raised his hand as he walked. He felt the fraying piece of cord he'd attached to the bare light bulb in the ceiling brush his hand, and he pulled it. Italy's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden onslaught of light from the ceiling.

The bulb illuminated a small circle of the basement and bathed the two nations in grungy, sickly, off-yellow light. He smashed Italy across face with the pipe, and then stepped back to examine what how Italy's injuries had progressed. Russia smiled, glad to see the game was moving along smoothly. Italy squinted in the harsh glare, then cowered as he saw the huge form of Russia advancing on him.

Russia slammed the pipe into Italy's side – Italy was _so close _to screaming, he could feel it rising in his throat – and grinned as he heard a satisfying crack. "Eh? Did something break, comrade?"

He dropped to his knees and positioned himself over Italy as the Mediterranean curled up, deaf from pain. Russia reached out; one hand cupped Italy's cheek and the other slipped under Italy's shirt and skidded over his ribs, searching for the protruding broken bone. Through his daze, Italy felt his tattered, blood-soaked shirt being peeled from his chest, then Russia's cold hands touch both his cheek and torso. As Russia's fingers rubbed along his ribs, Italy winced in pain as he got closer and closer to the broken one.

"Is it here?" Russia mused, pressing down gently.

_If Germany were here _– The rest of Italy's thoughts were interrupted as a sudden burst of pain from his chest reached him. Italy let out a strangled yell, breaking his promise of silence. Russia smiled at he felt the fractured bone shift even under his gentle touch, then grinned, encouraged by Italy's agonized cry. He pressed harder, pushing the bone inwards. Italy cried out in pain again as Russia put force on his broken rib.

Through his gloves, Russia could feel the Italian's skin, slick with blood. His fingers slipped down and in suddenly and Italy moaned. He could feel and _hear_ the ribs grate together inside his chest. Russia's eyebrows jumped in pleased surprise as he realized the break had in fact been a compound fracture, and he had just found the bone's exit wound. For a moment, Italy's eyes fluttered and his body went limp.

"Don't fall asleep yet, comrade," He pushed again, nudging Italy's rib and widening the tear in the skin. "We are still playing."

Italy flailed, managing to slice open his knuckles. From the combined pain of his bleeding hands, the wide gash from his cheek to his chest, his broken rib, and Russia's probing fingers, Italy screamed as loud as he possibly could.

Russia calmly removed his hand from Italy, twisting his fingers slightly to tear the wound a bit as he withdrew and urging a final shriek from the Italian. _This_ was how his games were supposed to be played, and he was certainly pleased. These screams...they were unlike Italy's usual squeals of fright – _nyet_, these were screams. Anguished, terrified screams. Russia patted Italy's shoulder. "_Spasiba_, comrade." He grinned. "You are finally learning how things work in my house."

Italy found himself wishing for unconsciousness, whether it be from blood loss or yet another blow from Russia's pipe.

Russia took Italy's hand and turned it so he could examine the man's knuckles. The cold caused Italy to sigh with relief, but it was, unsurprisingly, only temporary. "But please, be careful." Russia chided. Leather grip tightened, squeezing fingers together. "I don't want you to hurt yourself." Italy felt his bruised, bloody knuckles pop, and then something snapped.

Russia shifted, leaning forward, entwining his fingers with Italy's own broken ones. "I promise you, Italy, this is the last time I will ask you this, but I am curious." He tilted Italy's head up with the middle of his pipe. "Do you still believe Germany will come for you?"

Italy fixed the tall Russian with as steely a glare as he could manage. It didn't help that there were tears of pain slowly sliding down his cheeks. One of them made its way into the gash on his face and he grimaced. He looked Russia in his cold amethyst eyes again. "Germany. Will. Come." Italy said, although he didn't quite believe it himself.

Russia smiled. "Your faith in your comrade is impressive, Italy."

Italy stared up at the taller man. He was standing in front of the single bare bulb, so the light made a sort of halo around him. _He's as far from an angel as you can get_, thought Italy.

Russia curled his hand into a fist and drilled it into Italy's blood-stained abdomen drawing a strangled gurgle and coughed-up mouthful of blood from his guest. "Even so, I promise you, Germany will not interrupt our game." He grabbed Italy by the collar and stood, lifting him. ITaly gasped for air, kicking uselessly. Russia made an about-face, dragging Italy across the cement as he moved, and threw Italy firmly to the floor once his turn was complete, earning numerous small scrapes and bruises to add to for Italy's ever-growing list of wounds.

He stepped back, allowing himself a view of his work so far – taking in every smear of blood or blotch of crimson on Italy's form. It had been fun, but he still wanted to play, just a little bit more. Russia took a step forward. He had heard much music, but Italy's cries were by far the best melody.

Italy huddled up on the cold floor and moaned piteously to himself. His hopes were gone, shattered. He wished for unconsciousness or even death. At this point, Italy didn't even care. He got shakily to his feet and staggered back against the wall, wincing when his ribs and the long slice on his chest began to ache once more.

Russia wiped his chin with the back of his gloved hand. It merely smudged the blood on his face into a gruesome streak instead of clearing the gore, but he gave no notice. Scarlet ran down his face in sporadic rivulets as he advanced on Italy yet again, the droplets collecting and drifting down his cheeks and jaw. Russia tapped his pipe against his open palm and turned his head from side to side, looking over Italy once more, deciding where else he would conjure a bruise. Within three steps of Italy, he made his decision and swung the pipe at Italy's previously unmarred right thigh, hoping to bring the man to his knees.

Italy squeezed his eyes shut and took a step out of the way. He heard the _ping_ as the metal connected with the wall. He opened his eyes to find that the pipe had missed him by centimeters. He stood there gaping for a few seconds, then turned and ran, stumbling the first few steps. Italy had no idea where he was going, for as he got farther and farther away from the bulb (and Russia) the basement got progressively darker. He tripped over a box that thunked when his foot hit it and tripped, falling. He put out his arms to break his fall, hoping Russia hadn't heard.

Russia raised his eyebrows in mild surprise as Italy dodged and ran, not expecting the sudden resistance. He easily navigated the darkness and closed the distance between the two of them with a few long, casual strides. Italy lay there, quaking on the floor, hearing the heavy thumps of Russia's boots and the swish-swish of his long coat as he got closer and closer. Suddenly, the footsteps and the rustling stopped. Russia was almost at Italy's side when he heard the hollow thud of him hitting one of the empty vodka crates piled around his basement. He crouched slightly and swung his pipe again, estimating in the black where Italy's knee would be.

Intense pain exploded in Italy's knee. He screamed loudly and pulled his legs to his chest, only succeeding in making the injured one hurt more. His small, shaking hands found their way to the source of the pain and lightly touched the area. He felt slick, slippery blood coating his knee, which felt like it had broken in two. Italy tested it out quickly, only to moan at the waves of pain that continued to envelop his body.

Russia knelt down next to Italy and reached out. He traced a hand down Italy's side, searching for his leg. Once he located his leg, Russia moved his hand over Italy's knee. His fingers found the cracked joint. Italy squeaked and another smile spread across Russia's face. "There." He nodded approvingly. "If you cannot walk, you cannot disrupt our game, da?"

He listened to Russia's words, spoken with a heavy Russian accent, and knew he would not get away. He knew, deep in his heart, that Germany and Japan were not coming. He shivered in the cold basement. How sad and broken he must have looked, a small nation who only wanted pasta and Germany and pasta and painting and pretty girls and pasta...He shuddered as his knee and the long cut, which had opened up again, twinged painfully. He felt warm blood mix with the old, dried blood on his cheek. He felt it trickle down his neck into his tattered bloody shirt, another reminder that he was Russia's captive.

Russia moved closer to Italy, peering at him in the dark. His knee ran over Italy's broken hand briefly before grinding it into the cement as he inched forward.

Italy screamed and writhed in pain as Russia leaned on his injured hand. He felt the grit from the cement floor dig into the soft underside as he tried to wrench his leg out of Russia's grip.

Russia examined the space in front of him, his mind forming the contours of Italy's face in the darkness. "I should thank you, comrade." He stood and circled around Italy once to orient himself, rolling his wrist back and forth to make the pipe swing. "I think you might almost be as fun as Liet." He slowed his gait as he walked around behind the Mediterranean nation. "It really is fun listening to you scream." Once the pipe had gained some semblance of momentum, he lashed it out and slammed the faucet head into the hollow where Italy's head met his neck.

Italy gasped as bright spots danced before his eyes. He immediately felt a darkness spreading over his limited vision. Off in the distance he thought he could hear Russia laughing, but he couldn't be sure.

He felt his eyes droop partway closed and realized, with his last few coherent thoughts, that he was slowly falling unconscious, maybe even dying. Italy didn't mind, it meant the pain was over.

He began to hear strange things. First off was a loud banging, then a crash and the sound of splintering wood. Next he thought he heard Germany's voice, which convinced him he was dying. Only then would he be able to get out of this horrific basement and see Germany again.

**A/N: Another chapter is up! Thanks again to my awesome friend Arugala, the co-author. She has helped me become a better writer in a whole lot of ways. Please remember to read and review, it really means a lot to us.**

**And now a note from Arugala.**

**Hello, everyone. Thank you for the reviews, favorites, alerts and so on. This is my first collaboration and StarGazer is a joy to work with. **

**On a more related note, this may have been my favorite part to write. Just saying. Next chapter is the last chapter! Thanks again!**


	4. Chapter 4

Russia bit his lip, holding back another stream of hysterical laughter. He raised the pipe to his mouth and grinned as the sickly sweet taste of coppery blood found its way to his tongue. His playmate had stopped moving, and the game, sadly, was over.

He reached out to drag Italy back into the light when he heard a faint knocking from the floor above. Well, knocking wasn't quite the word. "Hammering", perhaps? He walked back to the bare lightbulb without Italy and began climbing the steps when he heard the sound of cracking wood. It was followed the frightened mumblings of one of the Baltics and then, in terse German, "_Where the fuck did you put him, bastard_?"

Russia simply smiled. "Ah," He murmured. Comrade Germany has arrived."

Germany paused his tirade to watch as Russia approached. With loathing, he spoke in Russian, his accent thick through the words.

"You heard me, Slav. Where. Is. He."

Down below, in the basement, Italy twitched as he heard Germany's violent outburst in his native language. Italy remembered the times during training, like yesterday... Had only one day gone by? It had seemed like months...

Russia approached his ally with broad smile. "Hello, Germany." Germany glared in response.

The Soviet nation set his pipe down on the kitchen table as he walked over to the blond. "Ah." His smile fell as he saw his fractured door. "My door." Russia met Germany's eyes. "That was rude, comrade. And I don't even now what you want."

Edging sideways slightly so he could better see the kitchen table, Germany mentally flinched when he saw the pipe. There were considerably more bloodstains on it than when he had last seen it, and he threw a quick glance over to the Baltics, feeling pity for them. He turned his attention back to Russia. "Italy. I know you took him. Where is he and what did you do?" _Normally, he would have been following me around like one of my dogs_...

"Germany, you should not jump to conclusions." Russia chided. "What would make you think that _I_ have Italy? We are at war, da? Perhaps you should check with one of those trustworthy _Allies_," the word was strained, laden with a poisonous malice, "instead of your own comrade." Russia reached out to clap a hand on Germany's shoulder. "And breaking down doors isn't exactly the way to greet your host, da?"

At that moment, Estonia walked into the room. He glanced from Russia to Latvia and Lithuania to Germany. His eyes widened a bit behind the lenses of his glasses when he looked at the muscular frame of the German. "I was just coming to tell Latvia that I..." He trailed off, noticing the look on Russia's face. He took a few steps backward so he was mostly in the hallway, ready to turn and run if Russia decided to go after him. Germany raised an eyebrow.

"Estonia," Russia began calmly. He turned back to Germany, smiling vaguely. "It can wait, da?" Estonia opened his mouth as if to speak, but quickly reconsidered and backed away.

"Germany, I have other matters to attend to. Why don't you look for Italy elsewhere?" It wasn't a suggestion. "I would be more than happy to assist you once I've finished my business. But for now," he gestured pointedly to the battered chunks of wood lying in his front hall. "You are overstaying your welcome."

Germany glanced backward at the splintered remains of the door. He faced Russia again and said calmly, "The last time I saw Italy was four hours ago. I knew I'd seen you after the meeting, and I know you have him."

Down below, in the basement, Italy was sliding back and forth between unconsciousness and consciousness. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, but they closed again and again. He could have sworn he heard Germany's voice. He strained his ears, but only a faint murmur of sound reached him in the cold basement.

"Germany, it is entirely your fault if you can't keep track of your subordinates. Perhaps you should discipline them?" Russia glanced over at the Baltics and gave his two satellite nations a cold smile. Latvia appeared to be on the verge of tears.

"In any case, Germany, such a meeting is hardly courteous. We can arrange for a time to meet later, da?" Russia rubbed his middle finger and thumb together absentmindedly, gazing down at his hand as his new captive's blood dribbled down his gloves. "But for now," he met Germany's eyes. "Leave." Russia's smile never faltered, but the polite cheer in his voice was gone.

Germany suddenly noticed the blood coating Russia's leather gloves. He squinted suspiciously at the two cowering Baltic nations. Neither seemed to have any fresh wounds, and the blood on Russia's gloves was _certainly_ fresh, definitely less than a few hours old. Germany couldn't recall Estonia having any hindering wounds, either. He had run pretty fast back down the corridor...

He took a better look at Russia, more accurately, Russia's coat. He had been trying to avoid looking at it before, but the dark red spots of various sizes were all too apparent. Russia's normally beige pants were also interrupted by soaking areas of the same colour, and his black boots had a shining wetness to them. Germany's heart began to race. _What has he done to Italy?_

"I _know_ you have him, Russia. Don't play games with me. Where is he?"

Russia blinked slowly, gathering his thoughts. Germany wasn't leaving, unfortunately, and though he could probably get away with playing a game with Italy, playing with Germany was an entirely different matter entirely. Not to him, maybe, but certainly to their bosses. And if Germany wouldn't leave, and Russia couldn't force him, he would give him what he wanted. It wasn't exactly how he'd planned to deliver his message, but as long as Germany saw, that was enough. Russia allowed one more droplet of blood to fall from his hand and listened to the soft _plop _resound through the deathly silent kitchen before giving Germany another too-bright smile. "If you insist, comrade." He nodded down the hall. "This way."

Germany's face betrayed no emotion, but inwardly he was both frantic and apprehensive. He could feel his heartbeat speed up as he imagined all the horrible things Russia could have done to Italy. He shook his head to clear the awful scenes and focused on one thought: was Italy even alive? Germany knew Italy was a nation and all, but they could still die if they were put through enough. What would he tell Italy's boss? Would Italy even _have_ a boss if he was... Germany couldn't even think the word.

He silently followed Russia down the hallway, lost in thought. He barely even noticed that Russia had come to a halt, managing to avoid walking into him at the last second.

Russia's eyes drifted down the red smears around the doorknob and edges of the door. Each scratch and stain brought back a litany of memories. He opened the door and gestured into the darkness. The small halo of light from the bulb at the base of the stairs was just visible on the top step.

"After you." He stepped back, allowing Germany plenty of room to walk forth. "I can wait until you get to the bottom of the stairs if you wish." Russia noticed that the other nations tended to become slightly uncomfortable when he stood behind them, and as an involuntary host, he might as well attempt to be considerate.

Germany looked Russia in the eyes. He couldn't even begin to comprehend why the elder nation seemed to enjoy harming others. He swallowed hard and took a step forward.

The stairs creaked as his weight settled on them one by one until he reached the bottom. Germany shivered slightly. If it was merely cold in Russia's house then down here was freezing. He suddenly noticed something on the floor. Fresh bloodstains. Definitely fresh. The metallic smell permeated the air all around him. Germany didn't want to go forward, but he had to, if he was to possibly save Italy's life.

Russia followed Germany, his steps barely audible despite the age of the wood and his own weight. He put a hand on Germany's shoulder and a smile tugged at his lips as he saw Italy's blood seep into his best friend's uniform. Germany was one second away from rudely shrugging off the taller nation, but Russia seemed to sense his thoughts and removed his hand. He stepped away, dragging his fingers slightly to elongate the stain before walking into the darkness.

"Comrade Italy...?" He called gently. Russia's stride slowed as he left the small ring of light. His foot made a gentle rasping sound as it skidded through something wet and nudged something soft. "Ah, there you are." He crouched down next to Italy. "Wake up, da? You have a visitor."

Germany shuddered at Russia's words and all but ran over to where Russia was squatting. The sight shocked him. Italy was lying in a pool of blood. Germany's eyes opened wide as he took in the severe extent of his injuries.

He followed the long gash from cheek to shoulder, the gash where Italy's rib was broken (and the small exit wound that blood was slowly leaking from), and Italy's smashed knee. Germany felt like throwing up, but he had to stay strong, for Italy, if not for himself. Of course he had seen worse but this was...God, this was _Italy._

Russia reached out and ran a finger down the long cicatrice on Italy's face. "Italy told me something interesting, Comrade Germany." His finger slipped over Italy's jaw, under his chin, down his neck. "He said..."

He let out a small, light-hearted laugh as if to show the sheer idiocy of the concept. "Italy said you were planning to attack me." His hand reached Italy's rumpled, bloody collar. "It is a silly idea, yes, but even so...I thought it should be dealt with. I wouldn't want you to make a fool out of yourself by invading my house. And Italy was kind enough to help me demonstrate why." Russia gripped Italy's limp form and pulled it up. "So, Germany. Now that you have what you came for, you will leave, da?"

Italy, barely clinging to cognizance, distantly heard Germany's voice. He fought against the comforting darkness swirling around him and strained to hear what it said. He was half-awake, he decided it was best to stay as still as possible in case Russia thought to lay into him again. The dizzy, dazed state he was in was no longer from the blow from Russia's pipe. It was from blood loss. His wounds had barely healed, and he could feel the pool beneath him, warm, numbing, wet.

Germany had gone quite pale after seeing the full extent of Italy's wounds. The large slice would definitely scar. He felt certain Italy's knee would not heal properly, either. As Russia talked, Germany's mind was going. What was he going to tell his boss? Was it by accident? And Japan...

Russia lifted Italy's body easily. Italy's head rolled loosely on his shoulders, and blood continued to drip from his torn and rumpled uniform. Germany wondered if he was even alive. He reached out to take Italy's limp body from Russia who dropped the man rather unceremoniously into Germany's arms. Germany buckled at the sudden onslaught of weight. He locked his elbows and somehow managed to keep the smaller man cradled bridal-style in his arms. But Russia didn't step away from the growing empire. Instead, he moved forward, leaning down only slightly to bring their eyes level.

"Germany," Russia said softly. His voice was low and steady, but still retained its infantile tone. "Italy was fun to play with, but I wouldn't want to have to give this message again." He grinned lopsidedly, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "You will leave my house alone, da? I wouldn't want to have to fight a comrade...not again. Not so soon."

He slipped one hand out from the Italian and tipped the brunette's limp body backwards until Italy was resting against the blond's chest. Germany brushed a few bloody locks away from Italy's forehead. To his surprise, Italy's face twitched under his gentle touch. His hand drew back in surprise, but Italy moved no more.

Russia watched Germany for a while, interested by his unexpectedly calm reaction. The giant smiled. _Perhaps this is a sobering experience for him, something I am sure he has not had in quite some time._

He looked away after a few moments, and noted a half empty bottle of vodka amongst the splintered, bloodied wrecks of crates. His fingers brushed the neck of the bottle with a sort of affection before he wrapped his hand around the cool glass, sighing softly as the vodka was procured. He uncapped the bottle and drank deeply before pulling it away from his mouth with a hint of reluctance. "Speak, Germany. You haven't answered my question yet, and Italy appears to need assistance."

Germany did not glance up from Italy's battered frame. Inside he was panicked and furious, but he would not give Russia the satisfaction of hurting both Italy and him. He smoothed the front of Italy's torn shirt. Germany noticed that for once Italy's curl did not bounce at the side of his head, rather it drooped close to his ear.

At last Germany raised his head and fixed Russia with an icy glare. "I won't forget this, Russia. You will pay." Germany slid his arm back under Italy's still form and straightened his back. He walked over to the foot of the stairs and stopped. "If Italy doesn't survive this..." He let the words trail off, his meaning clear.

Russia frowned and folded his hands behind his back as he watched Germany disappear into the blackness as he ascended the stairs. "...I do not understand." He sighed. "Germany does not appear to want to leave me alone at all."

He turned and paced back to the smear of blood on the floor, the fresh one that still reeked of life and pain. He crouched at the edge of the stain and looked at the slender streaks of red where Italy had torn the skin of his fingers on the abrasive cement. "Perhaps, this is...the language barrier, da?" He smiled. "Comrade Germany should work on his Russian."

**Author's Note:**

**To everyone who reviewed, favorited, and alerted, thank you so very much. It really means a lot to us that you like our fic! This fanfiction was created over three months. We wrote it all out through first-person on Gmail chat, then moved it all onto a Google Document and edited it there, adding a real beginning and tying up loose ends. It eventually turned into this. Again, thank you all for reviewing! –StarGazer453**

**Hello everyone! I'm the co-author, Arugala, and, as many of you already know, I wrote for Russia during the original roleplay between StarGazer and I. I am also LiT's resident history dork so lemme lay down some facts for y'all. Since this roleplay and the resulting fan fiction were made just for fun, there are some historical inaccuracies. First and foremost, this never happened! Germany made all his motives towards Russia known through speeches and propaganda; Italy didn't tell him, nor did Russia take any violent action towards Italy that I know of.**

**(**http:/ en. wikipedia. org /wiki/Operation_Barbarossa#Nazi_ theory_regarding_the_Soviet_Union **) (Remove the spaces in the link.) The Molotov-Ribbentrop pact (Germany and Russia's "pact") was signed in August 1939. Hitler broke the pact in June 1940. Stalin ignored many warnings of Hitler's betrayal though and only really recognized the threat in 1941. (He didn't expect Hitler to break the pact a mere **_**two years**_** after it had been signed.)**  
**After a bit of research on Moscow climate and the timeline of German-Russian relations, I put the fan fiction at about mid-March 1941. At the supposed time of the fic, Germany has only just begun thinking about troops.**

**In case you were wondering, Russia kind of got his butt handed to him at first. Stalin had been doing these things called the Purges (or the Great Purge) where he killed or arrested (and sent to Siberia) everyone who didn't believe in Communism. These "anti-Communists" were often high-ranking government officials or high-ranking military officials, people who did things like **_**plan military strategy**_** and **_**lead armies**_**. So Russia was left in the hands of young, inexperienced people who proceeded to lose to Germany. A lot.**  
**But then General Winter came! And Germany failed so hard it hurt. A lot. Though the invasion of Russia was planned to be short and started in the summer, it lasted until winter, and food, ammo and body heat were running short and Germany had to retreat/surrender. (Show 'im how it's done Italy!)**


End file.
